Silent Mourning
by Joey51
Summary: Bosco silently mourns the loss of a loved one. Stand-alone.


A/N- Ah, yes, it's good to be back. One shot deal here, my friends. Please read and review, even if just to say hi! Also, special thanks to Sarah, my ever-supportive Beta.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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Silent Mourning

Bosco's hands shook involuntarily as he nervously straightened his tie in the mirror. He flinched at his own reflection; there were just some things that an expensive suit and tie couldn't conceal. His eyelids were heavy and his face was pale and drawn from lack of sleep. Even to his own eyes, he looked ragged.

Closing his eyes, he gingerly leaned forward on the marble counter of the funeral home bathroom. The expensive and immaculate surface was cool to the touch and seemed to ease his trembling to a certain degree. Sighing heavily, he silently prayed for any form of internal strength to get him through what was sure to be one of the most trying events of his life. He turned on the tap and splashed some of the lukewarm water on his face - not bothering to wipe off the remaining liquid, instead, letting it drip rhythmically into the depth of the sink.

Soft, comforting music drifted from one of the speakers that was expertly imbedded into the wall - loud enough to be determined, but quiet enough to whisper over. It made him wonder why a place that represented a time of such horror and despair for so many people, would be so classy and well-kept. A soft scent of potpourri was even present in the men's washroom, and he knew that from then on, the scent of roses would always remind him of the worst day of is life - the day his brother died.

-------------------------

Bosco moaned loudly as the piercing ring of the phone invaded his sanctuary of sleep. Lately, he had been at the receiving end of more than a few prank calls in the early hours of the morning, and it was beginning to gnaw on his last nerve.

"I'm gonna kill the little bastards," he mumbled while stumbling from his bed toward the living room.

Grasping blindly for the phone in his sleepy haze, he vehemently began yelling into the receiver before it had even reached his ear. "Listen, you call me one more time in the middle of the night, I'm going to make you sorry you were ever born!"

"Moe? What are you talking about?"

Bosco shook his head while squinting in an attempt to clear his mind and mentally grasp the unexpected turn of events. "Mikey? What the hell's going on?"

"Uh… Moe, I'm sorry to call you like this, but I…I need your help."

Bosco absently rubbed at his eyes with his free hand while slumping onto the couch, prepping himself for a conversation that would, no doubt, leave him more frustrated and angry than when he thought some kids were messing with his sleep cycle.

"What, Mikey? What is it now?" His voice had deflated from its previously bolstering fury to express his absolute annoyance towards his delinquent brother.

"I'm in trouble, Moe. Real," he paused, and Bosco could hear the distinct sound of shoes rapidly pounding pavement, "real big trouble," Mikey finished, rushed and breathless.

"Who are you running from and where are you running to?" Bosco inquired immediately, suddenly more aware of the severity of the matter.

"Moe, I need money. Fast," Mikey responded, ignoring his older brother's questioning and getting right to the point.

"Jesus, Mikey! Money? Why? What the hell have you done now?" Bosco leaned forward in his seat, his fist gripping the phone tighter as his anger level increased, the blood now surging through his veins in an angry mixture of anxiety and rage.

"Moe, please." Mikey's voice was nearly a whisper and the sudden quiet would indicate that he had stopped running for the time being. "I need ten grand…NOW."

"Ten grand? _Ten grand?!_ I don't have _ten grand_!"

"They're gonna kill me, Moe. Please, you have to believe me, they're gonna kill me…." His voice trailed off into a muffled sob, and Bosco fought the urge to whip the phone against the wall with all his might.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself and tried to reason with his brother. "You come here and we'll figure this out. I can't get you ten grand, Mikey. I don't have access to that kind of money right now."

"I'm not fuckin' kidding here, Moe! You have to help me…please. Don't you know anyone that has that kind of money? Anyone? What about Faith?"

"You want me to call Faith at three in the fucking morning?! Are you out of your God-damned mind?!"

"I wouldn't ask if --"

"Yeah, I know, you wouldn't ask unless it was an emergency. Well, let me tell you something, Mikey, I'm getting a little sick of all your so-called 'emergencies'."

Again, Bosco made a conscious effort to calm himself and regain his composure. "You listen to me; you come here and I'll put you up for the night and we'll figure something out. I can't get you money and you know it."

"I'll try, Moe. Are you sure there is no one you know who has it? Who has that much cash?"

"No! No, I don't. Get your ass over here now."

The connection was immediately sliced and Bosco stared at the object in his hands in disbelief for several seconds. His heart was pounding rapidly in his tightened chest and he bit on his bottom lip to refrain from screaming out loud in frustration.

Mikey had an incredible ability to find trouble, and Bosco was more than sick to death of rescuing his little brother from his recurring screw-ups. He had promised him after their last - and most dangerous - encounter, that he wouldn't mess with that shit anymore. Bosco was starting to care less and less. There were only so many times he could save Mikey from himself and he was nearing the end of this brotherly-loyalty shit that kept pushing him to come to the rescue.

Only minutes later, there was a loud, rushed series of knocks at the door. Bosco bolted from his seat to let in his fleeing brother.

Mikey slithered through the door before it was even half opened, slamming it noisily behind him. After shakily turning the lock and latching the chain, he pressed his back against the door and slid to the ground - resting his head in his hands and trying to regulate his breathing.

Bosco backed his way down the hall. The site of his little brother so completely panicked and distraught hit him like a punch in the gut. He had seen Mikey upset and disturbed several times before, but this was different. He was in survival mode. It was like he was running to escape his own worst nightmare.

Bosco tore his eyes away from the painful sight and reached into the messy closet to retrieve an extra pillow and blanket. Returning to the couch, he created a makeshift bed out of his limited supplies and then slowly inched towards his panic-stricken brother.

"C'mon," he sighed, reaching out a helping hand, "sleep on the couch and we'll figure out what the hell to do with you tomorrow morning."

Without raising his eyes from the floor, Mikey's hand gripped onto the support of his older brother's.

Bosco watched as Mikey carefully lowered himself onto the old couch and turned his back to him while grabbing onto the large pillow.

With a silent sigh, Bosco retreated to his own bed. There was only so much he could do right now - he might as well try to sleep so he could think straight in the morning.

---

The loud wail of his alarm jolted Bosco back to consciousness, and he reflexively slammed his fist onto the sleep button. Only seconds later, the events of the previous night flooded through his mind and completely retrieved him from the comfort of sleep, slapping him back into reality.

Flinging the twisted sheets off of his body, he stumbled to his feet and made his way towards the door. This whole thing with Mikey would undoubtedly require some strategic planning and awareness; it would be smart to get a head start on the coffee.

Immediately upon entering the living area, Bosco slowed to a halt. The blanket and pillow were folded and stacked neatly at the end of the couch. A folded, yellow piece of paper was propped up on top to reveal 'MOE' printed in block letters across the front.

Bosco shook his head in sheer exasperation. Sometimes - well, most of the time - he truly didn't understand the mind of his capricious little brother.

He rubbed his eyes before focusing on the nearly illegible writing:

Moe,

Had to run and try to find money. Sorry about last night.

If you think you can help me out, call me on my cell.

Don't tell Ma I'm in trouble. I don't want to worry her.

-Mikey

Immediately upon finishing deciphering the note, Bosco furiously scrunched the paper into a tiny ball and proceeded to whip the object harmlessly at the wall behind the couch.

---------------------

The back door squeaked loudly when Bosco forced it open. The invasive sound sharply contrasted the soothing melody of the music floating through the funeral home. Cringing against the blast of cold, he stepped outside and inhaled the frosty air deep into his lungs and savored the cutting slap of the wind against his flushed face.

His head ached in exhaustion from trying desperately to control and suppress his emotions for such an extended period of time. Spotting an overturned crate against the wall to his left, he allowed his body the small reprieve of rest and lowered himself down.

The arrangements for this funeral had been torturous, and Bosco knew that it was only a matter of time before his mind and body completely cracked from the devastating pressure. He hated the feeling of vulnerability associated with such a breakdown, but eventually, the exhaustion that accompanies being 'the strong one' would prove to be overwhelming.

Just a few more hours, he reminded himself, then his whole nightmare would be over.

The loud ring from his pocketed cell phone forced him to swallow the lump in his throat, and once again, adopt the steel composure that had seen him through thus far.

Clearing his throat, Bosco flipped open the phone and halfheartedly held it up to his bowed head. "Hello?"

"Hey, Bos, it's me. How ya doin'?"

Faith's voice was quiet, comforting and dripping with sympathy. Normally such a tone would bother Bosco, but on such a monumentally stressful day, he just didn't have the energy left to care.

Bosco felt his heart ache as he fought off another round of stifling tears - for some reason, it came in waves. The pain behind his eyes increased as he struggled with his emotions for the umpteenth time in the last three days.

Faith listened carefully to the ragged breathing of her grieving partner while waiting patiently for him to answer.

Only when he was completely assured that he was, again, in control of himself, did Bosco dare to speak.

"It's been a rough day," he replied honestly. There were very few people he would admit that to, and right now, Faith was someone he could trust. He hated to admit it, but he needed to tell her that small confession to help clear his mind.

"I know," she responded, taking a second to battle her own emotions as she tried to console Bosco in his time of need.

"I'm going to come by a little early, if that's okay with you, Bos." She wanted to be there for him, but there was no way she was going to intrude on him if he wanted, or needed, his privacy.

She heard a subtle sniff in the background before a small voice gave her confirmation. "Yeah, that's fine."

Bosco rubbed a hand firmly over his eyes and mouth, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill.

"Okay, I'll be there soon, Bos."

No further words were exchanged as both officers disconnected their lines.

Bosco glanced at his watch and mentally noted that he had under two hours before people would start filtering in for the service. He had pondered how many people would actually show up. Mikey didn't exactly have an exorbitant amount of friends, and the family that he was aware of was minimal. Despite all this, Bosco had decided to rent the larger of the two available rooms, simply because the walls were a rich shade of red - Mikey's favorite color.

Rose had been a grieving disaster since receiving the devastating news, and Bosco found it increasingly hard to be around his mother over the past few days. Asa result of her complete emotional breakdown, all the decisions and arrangements were left to him. His mother hadn't even been able to accompany him to the meeting with the funeral director that morning to make any last minute requests and adjustments.

Bosco felt his entire body shaking, partially from the cold and partially from the total mental and physical exhaustion that was so close to overpowering his every sense.

A light rapping on the door behind him caused him to spin around, only to be met by the face of the compassionate funeral director.

"Your mother's here and she's looking for you," the older man stated, his face apologetic for having to interrupt Bosco's moment of solitude.

"Thanks," Bosco whispered, rising to his feet and following the kind man back into the warmth and monotonous succor of the funeral home.

--------------

"I thought my eyelids were going to freeze open when I first stepped outside this morning," Faith commented while scanning the streets for any potential criminals through the passenger-side window.

"Can that happen?"

"What? I don't know," she replied, not bothering to back her statements up any further. "You wanna get some coffee to help warm up?"

"Um, yeah, sure," Bosco replied, his voice trailing at the end to signify his drifting attention.

"Are you here today, Bos?"

"What's that supposed to mean? Don't get all philosophical on my ass!"

Faith shrugged off his comment. "It just seems like your mind's somewhere else."

"Yeah," he admitted while sighing. "I didn't get much sleep last night."

"Those prank phone calls wake you up again?"

"No," he shook his head, "not this time. Mikey."

"Mikey?"

"Yeah," he grumbled, gripping the steering wheel harder as he recalled the previous night's events. "Called me at three a.m. looking for ten grand."

"Ten grand?!"

Bosco nodded. "What does he think, I'm Donald Trump or something? I told him to _seek refuge_ at my place and we'd talk it over in the morning. When I woke up, he had bolted."

Faith noticed her partner's clenched jaw as he voiced his frustrations. The past few months had been full of drama that revolved around Mikey, and Bosco had been in a foul mood more than once as a result of his brother's most recent adventures.

Before Faith could ask any further questions, Bosco's cell phone went off.

He scowled when he caught a view of the call display. "Where the hell are you?" he blurted out immediately upon activating the line.

"I'm sorry, Moe. I went to see if I could find an old friend and settle a debt that he owed me. I need all the help I can get."

"And?" Bosco inquired, curious as to how much money this guy could have possibly owed Mikey.

"No luck. Can't find him. But Moe, it's getting desperate…. I'm getting desperate. I need some money, bro. Please, help me out here."

"I don't have that kind of dough at my fingertips, Mikey. Even if I did, you haven't even told me who's after you and why. You think that I'm just going to fork it over, no questions asked?"

"Moe, please, I'm not telling you for a reason. You don't need to get involved."

"Oh, I see, but as far as I'm concerned, if it's _my_ money, then I'm damn-well involved!"

"If you don't help me, I'm going to have to go to Dad…."

"Dad?! That asshole of a man still reserves that title with you?! He was willing to throw your _life away_, Mikey! You seriously think he's going to do anything to _help _you? You've got to be fucking kidding me!"

Faith couldn't help but feel for Bosco in situations like these. He had spoken and done a lot of crap to deserve most of what he gets, but in her opinion, his family unjustly relied on him far too often.

"You're not leaving me much of a choice, Moe!"

"NO! No, no, no! You ARE NOT making this my fault! You want to go to _Dad_, then you go to _Dad_ - see if I fucking care."

With that, Bosco whipped his cell phone shut and slammed it onto the dash. His breathing was heavy and he was sporting one of those ironic smiles that Faith had seen far too much of these days.

"Just calm down, Bos. I'm sure we'll get this whole thing sorted out."

The words didn't even appear to register as Bosco slammed on the brakes into a parking spot outside the coffee shop and hastily exited the vehicle.

Faith shook her head while undoing her seatbelt and mumbling, "It's going to be a long day…."

--------------------

Bosco shuffled apprehensively into the service room, following the funeral director obediently. The man gradually slowed to a stop and motioned to the front row of seats where his mother's back was turned to him.

Bosco nodded his thanks and prepared himself for another round of emotional support he would have to provide for his mother. As he slowly approached, he noticed her shoulders shaking slightly, signifying the sobs that were wracking her soul from the inside out.

Faith had tried to explain to Bosco the responsibility between mother and child - the unbreakable connection and the undisputed sacrifice that any loving parent would be willing to undergo for their child. He didn't completely understand the self-sacrifice thing, but after absently observing his mother over the past few days, he was almost positive that death would have been less painful for her. Instead, she's lost something that she can never get back, and it's tearing her apart.

Bosco gently laid his hand on his mother's shoulder and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. Her cold hand gripped his immediately, as if instinctively showing that she will not lose another one of her precious children.

No words were exchanged between the two. Rose quietly cried her sorrow while Bosco slouched low on the uncomfortable wooden bench, letting his eyes shut and allowing his head to bow into his chest.

Days worth of sleep were nagging at his brain, begging for any small allowance of rest, but he couldn't ease the gripping tightness in his chest and head - the sense of complete and utter loss. A therapist had shown up at his mother's apartment, assigned to them by the precinct's grieving and loss support group, and prescribed his hysterical mother pills that would allow her to sleep through her pain. Bosco had instantly retrieved the product from the drug store and administered the correct dosage to his mother, but the thought of relying on something so artificial for comfort disturbed him deeply.

She needed it; he didn't. Eventually, he figured, he would sleep again.

He rubbed his mother's hand gently in the only supportive gesture he could muster at the moment. She must have taken some solace in the subtle comfort because her sobbing receded until they both sat in an unbearable state of silent mourning.

----------------------

"Any word from Mikey?" Faith asked as she and Bosco scrounged through a dumpster with flashlights, in search of a prostitute that had gone missing from the area a few days ago and was reportedly dumped in their general vicinity.

"Nah, I can't get a hold of him," Bosco answered, obviously bothered by the entire ordeal.

"You think he's all right?"

"God, I hope so," he muttered, dipping his head in defeat. "She's not in here," he finished, changing the subject abruptly.

The sharp crackle of the radio caused both officers to jump nervously as it invaded the airwaves. "Central to 55-David."

"55-David," Faith responded, silently praying that they would be called off the horrific, dead-hooker search to which they had been assigned.

"55-David, please report back to the house immediately."

Bosco turned to face Faith, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I swear, I haven't done a thing wrong recently."

Faith almost laughed when she saw that her partner was serious in his remark, but then recalled that being called back to the station mid-shift usually wasn't a good thing. She swiftly moved towards the RMP, happy to ride shotgun in this circumstance and let Bosco navigate his way through the busy streets of a New York rush hour.

Faith gripped the door tightly as Bosco flipped the sirens and weaved his way through the inhibiting traffic, his speed and urgency increasing by the second.

"Jesus, Bos, slow down," Faith begged as they raced through an intersection with very little caution.

Bosco just shook his head from side to side, apparently deeply bothered. "Something's wrong," he muttered quietly, but his words didn't go unnoticed by Faith.

She did her best to block out all the negative thoughts of horrible events that could have happened to her family, her heart beating faster as they gradually neared the station.

Bosco slammed the shift into park and glared warily at Faith before either of them made a move to exit the vehicle. He caught the fear in her eyes and regretted worrying her by voicing his premonition that something was definitely not right.

The both tore their eyes from each other, simultaneously and robotically making their way toward the entrance of the precinct house.

Bosco's heart stopped when he walked through the door as the sympathetic eyes of several fellow officers met him. Lieutenant Swersky was the first to approach him, and the look on his face told Bosco all he needed to know.

"Bosco, why don't you come with me," Swersky said, leading the way to an empty office on the main floor.

Bosco's legs moved without any recognition from his mind, which was engulfed with the possibilities of what could have happened to cause such a scene.

Swersky nodded bleakly to Faith before closing the door that separated the two rooms.

Bosco lowered himself into a chair opposite the desk and prepared for the absolute worst.

He realized shortly after, that it doesn't matter how ready you think you are, being informed of news of such magnitude will always knock you off your feet.

He didn't remember exactly what was said, and he supposed that how it was relayed wasn't truly what was important, but Bosco came away from that conversation less of a person than he was when he went in. Whether he liked it or not, Mikey was a part of him - his family, his _brother_ - and someone had taken that away from him.

He didn't react to the quiet words and gently shoulder squeezes from Faith as he left the house that day. He didn't remember the solemn looks on the faces of his coworkers as he passed by. He didn't have any recollection of the escorted drive to his mother's apartment. He just remembered that someone put a price on his brother's life, and that price was ten thousand dollars.

-----------------------

"Mr. Boscorelli?"

Bosco snapped his eyes open to be greeted by the warm face of the funeral director. He blinked a few times to clear the haze before responding. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to go over some last minute things with you," the man started. "When you're ready," he added in a rush at the end.

"Sure, yeah, that's fine," Bosco replied, turning to see his mother staring blankly at the coffin situated at the front of the room. With a final squeeze of her hand, he rose to, once again, follow the man that ran the show.

He ran a hand through his hair and over the back of his cramped neck, the tension having seized his muscles into a noncompliant state. Just as he raised his eyes, he was met by Faith's grim expression.

Bosco stopped suddenly, almost as if he was shocked by her presence. The funeral director turned, curious as to where his entourage had disappeared.

"Can I just have a minute?" Bosco quietly asked the old man, his voice hoarse and uneven, affected by the wearisome proceedings.

"Absolutely," the man replied softly. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be in here." He smiled at Bosco before disappearing into his office.

"Looks nice," Faith stated, unsure of why she would make such a frivolous comment, but felt it needed to be said, nonetheless.

Bosco just nodded, staring at his shoes as he delicately shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

"You want to sit down for a minute?" Faith asked, motioning to the back row of seats.

Again, no verbal affirmation was voiced, but Bosco slowly maneuvered himself onto the wooden bench. Faith slid in beside him, carefully ensuring not to crowd her partner.

She looked towards the front, only to spot Rose sitting alone, completely inanimate and nearly undetectable.

"Your mom, how's she doing?" Faith asked, continuing to stare forward.

Bosco sighed before responding, linking his hands tightly together in his lap in an unconscious act of distress. "Not so good."

Faith nodded, slowly turning her gaze back to Bosco, her voice even quieter this time. "How're you doing?"

Following her question, he glanced disconnectedly around the room, tears stinging his eyes as they, once again, tried to escape. He blinked them back determinedly, and took a shuddering breath.

Faith's hand immediately found its way to his shoulder as she tried her hardest to console her partner when he needed her support the most. As if triggered by her sympathetic gesture, tears began to stream down his pale cheeks.

He closed his eyes and tried unsuccessfully to force the familiar, cold exterior that had protected him to this point.

Faith didn't push him any further. His release only triggered her own as she found herself trying to get a grip on her own emotions.

"I have to be strong," he started, his voice so quiet that Faith nearly didn't make out his words. "Ma needs me."

"I know, Bos. I know."

His teary gaze met her for a split second, but he pulled away, biting his lip as his last internal wall of defense completely broke down.

Faith gently wrapped her arm around his shoulders, swiping at her own tears with the her free hand. Between silent sobs, she could feel his body jolt slightly as every new wave of despair revealed itself.

She could see the determined attempts Bosco was making to regain his composure, digging as deep as he could and drawing on all his defense mechanisms to get him through this day.

"I'm so sorry, Bos," Faith leant her sympathies, but couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the horror of this particular death.

He didn't respond, but instead, leaned forward, resting his head in his hands as the tears streamed aimlessly down his fingers.

Her eyes were drawn to movement from across the room. Davis and Sully both stopped their entrance and made instantaneous eye contact with Faith. With no further request, both officers quietly backed out of the room, undetected by Bosco.

"Bos, people are going to be showing up soon. Are you going to be all right?" she asked, realizing that prompting him to recover so quickly probably wasn't what he needed.

"Yeah," he mumbled, wiping the tears from his cheeks and sniffling as he tried to breathe deeply.

Faith leaned back and allowed Bosco to do whatever he needed to do to feel ready to face the crowd. His eyes were bloodshot and adorned by dark circles underneath, undoubtedly from lack of sleep. He looked older and clearly exhausted.

Faith silently wondered how this would affect her partner. Bosco was the one that everyone counted on, whether they liked to admit it or not, and she wasn't sure he could be there for anyone for quite a while. He wasn't one to talk - at least, not when it was important. When he was worried or scared, he was quiet for extended periods of time. Faith was sure that it was unhealthy for someone to be so ignorant to their own needs and so willing to instigate a fight, but that was Bosco. He was a silent mourner and that was never going to change.

She realized that there were many silent days waiting for her in the RMP in the near future, but if that's what he needed, that's what she'd give him. Because, like it or not, everyone relies on Bosco - even herself.

She slid out into the aisle and Bosco followed, his head hanging in defeat and sorrow. From her new position, Faith internally smiled when she saw the crowd of people gathered in the waiting area. Her eyes locked with the funeral director, who immediately smiled compassionately in her direction. Placing a supportive hand on Bosco's back, she followed him out into the lobby. He hesitated for a second, pausing in the doorway as he absorbed the size of the crowd.

Faith leaned forward sensing his apprehension. "I got your back, partner," she whispered encouragingly. "I've always got your back."

-The End-


End file.
